


Victorious

by cigarettesandalcohol



Series: Their Little Lion [5]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: First Time Bottoming, Hotel Sex, Lust, M/M, Passion, Top!Harry, bottom!Poch, lolz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: The night in Amsterdam.





	Victorious

Pochettino couldn't hold back any longer as they entered the elevator; even before the doors fully closed he was pressed against his star striker in the corner already, hands mapping the taller man's body. His breathing was ragged and harsh as if he still hasn't fully recovered from the shock of winning; his pupils seemed strangely wide and his frantic need to touch, rub and squeeze any part of Harry's body available actually surprised Kane - in a pleasant way.

"Harry - " Pochettino moaned in a broken voice, demandingly grabbing Harry by his chin and ordering him to crouch a little so he could get what he longed for, a heated passionate kiss. Tasting Kane's lips was much more needed than breathing. "Come on - " he mumbled just as their lips parted. Panting heavily, he leaned in for another kiss but to his surprise and dismay, Harry pulled away.

 "We're here," he said with obvious difficulty, trying to push Pochettino away in a polite yet firm manner. The elevator door opened with a quiet beep, luckily for them, nobody was waiting outside on the corridor so nobody could see the manager's possessive grip of Harry Kane's arm.

"Harry - " Pochettino didn't seem to mind the fact they've been on the corridor at all. "I want you so much," he mumbled, hardly audible, needy hands holding onto Harry's shoulders and neck again. "Please, Harry - "

He was never the type to ask - he always just came and took what was rightfully his, the tall blonde guy with number ten, his beautiful boy and a talented man - but now, for the first time, he pleaded for attention in return. 

He grabbed Harry's hand, letting out a frustrated moan when Harry just headed towards the hotel room doors without even acknowledging the fact that Pochettino's nails dug deeper and deeper into his sleeve with each step.

"I need the card - "

"Harry - "

With a certain difficulty (caused by a _certain manager_ snuggling closer to his body), Harry managed to take the room card out of his pocket and make it work on the door. It was the highest time, as he felt Pochettino's lips firmly pressed against his neck, soon joined by the tip of the tongue circling a strange pattern on his sensitive skin.

"Boss," he panted, shivering from the wet, sloppy and overall needy gesture of affection. He opened the door and made the first step inside; at the moment they were both in the room, Pochettino took a step back with the expression of a madman in the middle of a psychotic attack; his eyes were darkened with lust and desire, pupils dilated and lips parted; shivers ran down Harry's spine at the thought that he looks just like a wild animal ready to attack.

"Harry - " Pochettino exhaled with a heavy accent. 

Their eyes locked and the tension and power within one simple look almost send Harry straight to his knees. Before he could complete this act, his manager took a deep breath and without ever breaking their eye-contact, he said: "I want you to fuck me."

Harry almost chokes out a surprised "Me?" but in the last moment, he stops himself and thinks - he tries to think about the meaning of it, the intonation Poch said it in, and what it all just means - and it's all so much for him.

"I want this night to be special - " Pochettino explains without being asked to, and Harry is glad he doesn't have to say anything - because anything would feel embarrassing to him. "I want you to take me. Harry - _please._ I want to know how it feels."

It's difficult for Kane to even find his voice again; his breathing and heartbeat are failing him.

_Pochettino wants him to.... he wants him to be on the top? Pochettino wants him to...fuck him?  His boss, his coach, the gaffer, the man who's more than twenty years older than him -_

"Harry - "

The gaffer's voice is urgent, hardly covering the pleading tone.

Just the simple thought of what Poch has asked him to do sends a wave of pleasure through Harry's whole body, especially concentrating in his private parts; well, he's been semi-hard for quite a moment now and Pochettino's demanding voice wasn't helping at all.

 He still hasn't answered and Mauricio's already working on his shirt, practically peeling it off of him. "What you say, Harry boy?" he huffed as he managed to unbutton the unbearably long line of small buttons on Harry's chest. "Will you do this for me?" He throws the shirt on the ground and grabs Harry by his arms, and the muscles tense under his grip. Harry bites back a low frustrated moan - Pochettino's grip makes him unable to touch him - or himself, actually - and he feels weak and vulnerable, as always when the gaffer shows him who's the boss here. And it doesn't matter that Pochettino practically begs to be fucked now - he is still the one calling the shots, Harry can sense it just from looking at him - in fact, he's not begging to be fucked, he's commanding Harry to do so. And oh, how Harry is willing to do whatever his boss asks him for. 

He feels intoxicated by the familiar scent of Pochettino's body, he loves the warmth it vibrates, and tonight, everything is about passion, sweat, and tears. Pochettino's dark shirt feels soaked in sweat under Harry's touch, and while otherwise, it would feel not very pleasant and maybe even nasty, now, in _this particular moment_ , Harry can't think of anything more erotic because he's seen Pochettino in the most emotional state tonight, and he wants to carry on with it even in the hotel room, he wants to help him get all those emotions out until his bed is a mess and they're both out of breath. The sweaty shirt feels delicious, smells delicious, and Harry fights with the buttons to get to the bare skin underneath; as soon as he practically rips the shirt open, he hungrily presses his heated lips on it and feels Poch gasp in surprise.

 _God, he needed him so much_.

Pochettino's hand at the back of his head tells him it's exactly what the manager needs - but after a while, the hand becomes more forceful and Harry knows what this means; he drops to his knees and nudges his face against the bulge in Pochettino's black pants, kissing the hidden hard-on through the cloth. He can feel just how warm and hard it is, and he loves that; he loves the fact that he's the one who caused this and he loves hearing Poch's shallow, rapid breathing.

 Harry's always eager to please Poch but now, a cheeky smile spread across his face. He doesn't unzip nor undo the pants, no, instead, he keeps his face pressed against the fabric and inhales sharply, focusing on the effect this smell and feeling have on his own body.

Mauricio moans, grabbing him by the hair. "Please - "

Harry just repeats the breathing and feels Pochettino's response to that and the subtle movement of his hips that jerk forwards every time Harry inhales or exhales. He wonders whether Poch could cum just from this friction.

He doesn't want to risk anything though, so he just gives the trousers bulge a kiss - but he can't resist another one, and another one, and - 

Pochettino pushes him away in what seems to be an embarrassing panic; he doesn't have to say anything and Harry still _understands_.

He smirks and looks up, just to see Pochettino biting his lip with a red face. 

"Cheeky - " he mumbles, breathing heavily. "I would almost - "

"Get on the bed then."

It sounds so unnatural coming from his lips, and Harry really has to focus on _not focusing_ on it. 

"The lube's in my bag - on the ground."

"I know."

Well, it's _always_ there.

When Harry gets to the bed with the condoms and the tube of lube in hands, Mauricio is sitting there with only his boxers. In his eyes, there's a mixture of anticipation, lust, and fear, and Harry can't help it but wonder whether he had looked the same when they first had sex. He didn't really have much time to think back then - it all happened so quickly - 

"I'll turn the lights off."

"Yeah."

 _Oh God, this is gonna be so awkward,_ Harry thinks as he sits down next to Poch. However, being with Poch never feels awkward somehow. He looks in the gaffer's eyes; in the dark, it feels even more intense, and then feels a hand creep up his thigh. "Get those pants off, Kane. Or you wanna fuck me like that?"

He chokes on air. "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

Pochettino placed his hand on Harry's cheek, looking somewhat tender all of sudden, but in a split second his stare turned into a hungry and lustful one and he brought his lips closer to Harry's ear, sending shivers down Harry's spine. "Fuck me, Harry," he groaned, letting the words sink in with a dramatic pause. "Do to me what I always do to you. Just take me, tear me apart, destroy me, I don't care."

Harry licked his lips. He could feel his hands and knees go weak. 

"You won't need this." Pochettino took the small package of condoms from his hands and threw it away across the room. Then he took Harry's face in between his hands and looked him straight in the eyes, dragging a moan from deep down his throat because this possibly was what an eye-sex meant. "Fuck me, _Harry boy_."

Not breaking the intense eye contact, Harry was quick to unbutton his pants with one hand. He started pulling it down, and at the moment that Pochettino joined him in the desperate effort, nothing seemed awkward anymore. 

"Come on, Harry. You wanna fuck your boss? Wanna show me what a strong and big man you are? Come on, let me see it. Got hard from teasing me, right? Oh, it's a two-way street, Harry."

"Get on your hands and knees."

Harry himself was surprised by how harsh and commanding it sounded but he was sure he could see how Poch's lip corners curled up. "Well done, Harry boy. Keep going."

Harry did. As soon as Mauricio was right where he wanted him to be, he positioned himself behind him and opened the bottle of lube.

"Gonna fuck me, Harry? Yeah?" Pochettino's voice sounded muffled by the pillow he's dug his face into but Harry could still understand perfectly what he meant. "Gonna pin me to the bed so I can't even move anymore?"

Harry was never really very vocal; he has always preferred acting to talking - and so he did even now. He slid his hand under Poch's underwear, firmly pressing his had against his entrance and moving it up and down, just to get some response.

"Y-yeah, feels good," the Argentinian murmured. His heartbeat got faster when Harry finally pulled the boxers half-way down his thigs, exposing him freely. "Come on, Harry," he encouraged him again, grabbing the pillow by its sides in preparation to what was about to come. He indeed felt a bit insecure - and scared, maybe? - because he couldn't really imagine how it feels being fucked by another man. Harry's fingers though seemed to be preparing him for a more than nice surprise. He arched his back, moaning into the pillowcase. "Yes, Harry - yes, that's nice - "

 There was a bit of an unpleasant pressure but it all seemed okay to Poch, especially when Harry's other hand was resting on his lower back in a supportive gesture. The tension of his body grew with every other second, and when Harry's finger finally got in, he swore aloud. " _Fuck_ , Harry - "

"Still want it?"

"Yes - ÿes, of course, Harry - "

"Good."

There's nothing for a moment, and Pochettino's heartbeat rate can get into a norm but then - 

\- it's Harry's tongue.

When Pochettino realizes it, he almost cums straight away; he could never ask Harry to do that but the thought that Harry does this just to please him, to make him satisfied and to complete this magical night, makes his toes curl. "Oh fuck - Harry - " He bites into the pillow and clenches his fingers; God, Harry's not only skillful with his legs but - _oh fuck_ - 

He teases him again, touches but doesn't go overboard, pressed his warm soft lips and uses his tongue where Poch needs him the most, and it just feels so wrong yet so right.

"Stay still," Harry mumbles almost deliriously behind him, and his breath just worsens the situation of Pochettino's already oversensitive body. He tries to move his hips, thrust against the blankets that are stuffed underneath him and then back again but Harry's hands hold him in place. " _Stay still_."

"Fuck me, Harry," he pleads again, and his desperation is only numbered by the fact that he knows he could cum anytime soon if Harry keeps doing this to him. "Fuck me."

Harry's little kisses along his spine feel like a sweet reminder that it's him, it's the big soft cuddly boy who's behind him, not some random stranger but his Harry, and Pochettino finds it actually relaxing. He could be satisfied with this only - if he wasn't so horny. He can hear Harry work on the lube bottle again, he can even hear the subtle erotic sound of _using that lube on himself;_ Pochettino knows the process so well. He willingly pushes back a little, hopeful to end the waiting, but it's all in Harry's hands now. And Harry takes his time.

"Breathe and relax."

Harry kisses him at least ten times on the back before actually moving forward; Pochettino can feel his lips and hands everywhere; maybe it's a sweet gesture of affection and maybe it's just supposed to be a distraction from - 

\- God, has Harry always been so _big_? 

 "Good," Harry whispers, but it's all a mess for the older man now; he tries to not care about his worries and just go on, help Harry to finally fuck him, but it's just not possible; he can feel just how tense and clenched his whole body is, as if he was terrified of this.

Which he is not, of course. He wants this, right?

"Relax, it's gonna be okay."

Well, if Harry says so...

The truth is, it doesn't hurt. He was afraid it would hurt, but it does not; it just feels strange and unusual and he's definitely not used to this. He just needs time - and thank God, Harry is the most patient partner he could ask for. He takes a few deep breaths and it indeed helps him to relax; Harry squeezes his hip and presses yet another kiss on his back. "Shall we go on?"

"Yes - yes, Harry, please."

No matter how strange the feeling is, it has something special to it. The physical closeness of their bodies, the fact that it's his star striker, his golden boy, his little lion who's doing this to him, the thought of it all just helps Poch deal with the unpleasant feeling very fast. In a few moments, actually, it doesn't feel weird at all.

He needs _more_.

More of his boy, more of that delicious dick that's not even halfway inside but that's making him so open, so taken, so busy and vulnerable as nothing else.

"It's okay, Harry. Feels good. I'm fine."

 He doesn't need to say it twice, Harry moves with energy and vigor that's typical for him, and more than that, he really wants to please and satisfy him. There's not a single hint of selfishness in his actions, he takes care of Pochettino in his most delicate state, covers his sweaty back and the back of his neck with kisses, and lets his hands jerk him off lazily while thrusting deeper inside.

The Argentinian faintly thinks about how perfect this is, and how he's never been like Harry is now during their sex, he sure has never taken such care of him - and he should make sure he _does_ the next time he's the top again - 

 Harry wouldn't even have to move; the feeling of him inside is enough to make Pochettino go crazy in a second, degrade him to a sobbing and whimpering mess of "yes, Harry" and "please" and "God" and "more". Kane doesn't get enough time to find a perfect rhythm; he sinks his teeth in Mauricio's shoulder and grunts in pleasure, running his thumb over the sensitive head tip of Poch's cock and that's it, that's what causes the older man's body shudder in a violent, desperate way, and he's cumming all over Harry's hand and the sheets alike. Somewhere in the heights of his orgasm he hears Harry moaning and reaching his release as well but he's too far gone by now to care about that - he needs to catch his breath and come back down to the Earth. 

"Fuck," he exhales, panting heavily against the pillow. "That was... _fast_."

Harry's still inside; it's a very strange feeling but something about this closeness even after the release makes him feel... _safe_?

His boy is not going anywhere. He's staying with him. 

"You have the self-control of a teenager," Harry mocks him. Pochettino can feel him laying on top of him, and the weight would be quite unpleasant if it wasn't Harry, _his golden boy Harry_. Who would have guessed he would love being underneath him so much, huh?

"It's because of you."

Harry giggled, pressing his nose against Poch's neck. They stay like that for a while, not talking at all.

"What a night, eh?" Pochettino finally speaks.

Kane just grunts something inaudible.

"What?"

"Wanna sleep like this," Harry mumbles, this time in a clearer voice.

"You can. You can do anything you want tonight."


End file.
